Clouded Addiction
by bah-humbug06
Summary: OneShot. Draco returns, to find Ginny alone in a bar... [disclaimer: i wish i come up with these characters  unfortunately JKR will own them forever]


Clouded addiction.

The barman waved the bottle in front of my nose. I pushed my glass forward, silently urging him to top up my glass. There was nothing like half a bottle of cheap whiskey in which to drown one's liver. Well, absinthe was more affective. It was a pity it sent you mad.

I swallowed heavily, relishing the feel of the amber liquid tearing its way down my throat only to settle in my stomach, its smoldering contents mixing with the other vile juices of my body.

I slid my glass forward again. "Why don't I just leave this here then," he said understandingly, setting the bottle on the bench with practiced care. He must get this a lot. Perhaps I nodded my approval, perhaps not. Regardless, he walked away, beer-stained towel swinging from his belt. Should you worry when you know just how to deal with women both hung over and blind drunk simultaneously?

There was only a couple of fingers' width left. Groggily I lifted my head from its resting place against the sticky table. I winced as my forehead peeled away from the chipped laminate. Everything was sticky. My clothes, the table, the bottle, the whole stinking pub. It was all sticking to me. There was something sweet about alcohol that drew you to it. It was only once you were covered in it, inside and out, once you had grown fat and languid under its influence, that you began to hate yourself. My mouth twisted into a cruel smile. I wonder what the cracked vinyl did to deserve such a look. It would be his fault if I preserve myself for death. His penitence when I failed to rot away.

Sluggishly, I used two hands to bring my glass to my lips, tipping it so my head wasn't forced to move. My eyes cracked open and slid left as the overstuffed booth dipped beside me, rolling me to one side as someone sat down.

"Fuck off," I said quietly as I saw who it was. I turned back to my drink.

"Your tastes have improved, I see." He stared down his nose at the table, then at me. "May I?" His large hands reached for the bottle of whiskey. I grabbed it and hugged it to my side.

"Fuck. Off."

His collected demeanor changed. "Don't make this harder than it already is."

"Harder?" God, this is rich. "Cos it was so easy before you left."

"I had no choice. You know that. _You__ gave_ me no choice" His tone was so practiced. So _sincere_. It was sickening.

"There is _always_ a choice. I choose to start my day a two o'clock with a bottle of cheap bourbon. You chose to start your day without me."

"That alcohol has destroyed your brain."

"And yet you still want to drink it." He reached over me, his arm dangerously close to mine. He still smelled the same; masculine, clean and sharp, but not overpowering. He didn't use aftershave. His thigh pressed mine. My chest hitched, and I breathed in. again. I breathed him again. Damn him.

"Did you come here to insult me?"

"I came here to be with you," he leered.

"And _you_ insult _my_ wit." I laughed dryly. "If you're trying to get into my pants, I highly suggest you lose some weight." Was I always this articulate when drunk? Right. I was drunk. And he knows it. Lord, I'm screwed. I stood up suddenly, crying out as my thighs banged roughly against the sharp underside of the table.

"I haven't finished with you yet." He grabbed my arm and yanked me down. I put my face in my hands, pushing the stray bangs out of my face. They'd fallen out of their somewhat prudish braid some time ago, and I hadn't bothered to redo it.

"Stop. Please stop. I'm so so tired of this. You left. You hurt me more than anyone. They all said you would. And you proved them right. I thought I knew you better, but I didn't. And I'm drunk. I've got fuck all idea of what I'm doing. Don't – don't make things difficult."

I was so focused on not looking at him that I didn't have time to think until he'd dragged me outside and had me pressed up against a the dark wall of the alley, kissing me as if his life depended on it.

Traitor. Before I knew it, I had started to kiss him back. His hands were everywhere, pawing at my clothes, tearing seams and ripping buttons. Roughly I pushed his face away, holding his chin with my hands.

"You can't do this. Just come back and use me just because you can. It doesn't make it all ok." I blushed furiously. His hands…

"Oh, I think I can do this," he hissed. "I'd believe you more if you stopped rocking your hips." He dropped me; I winced as I landed awkwardly. My back scraped down the brickwork. He placed an arm on the space either side of my head, trapping me. His face was open. Not covered by the usual smirk. I found myself at a loss for words. "You always a assume I want something from you, other than you. you always think I'm lying. Always think I have an ulterior motive. Maybe I want to fuck you into this wall simply because _you_ are _you._"

"Bastard."

He didn't flinch at my hissed words. He was used to it, I guess. I looked to either side of me, but there was no escape. No escaping his entrancing eyes – grey, now dark with desire – he always knew how to get to people. Now, he looked almost…honest. Typical. The only guy I really hook up with turns out to be as fucked up as I am, a compulsive manipulator with an extensive collection of books, as black in colour as in nature.

"You tell me that now. Where have you been all this time? You could have come back. It's too late now. You've lied too much." I leaned back against the wall, defeated. He was still staring at me. I couldn't hold his gaze.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?" he asked.

"Stop looking at me. The whole smouldering, you-know-you-want-me look. You cant just waltz back in whenever you want after royally screwing over everyone who trusted you and expect to have that trust back." I took a deep breath, winded after my long spiel.

He pushed himself off the wall, and sat down on the rotting wooden steps. He ran a hand through his fine hair, elbows resting on his fine-clad knees.

"So what do I do? The past year has been hell." He was still staring at me. I slid down the wall, relishing the stability the ground afforded me.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know?" Ahh crap. I couldn't help it. I was buckling. He had always been a weak spot. "Well…we'll figure something out. We always did before. Fuck. Right now, you're gonna get the fuck away from here and from me. I need time to recover. Tomorrow…well, tomorrow I'll find you and we'll…sort something out."

He nodded, once, stood, and walked away. His footfalls were so light. It was like he had never come. My chest tightened just thinking about it all. It was like he had never left, now that he was back. I rolled to one side and retched onto the cobblestones. You get addicted, and you hate yourself.


End file.
